Aspirant: Stung with a thousand ills, soiled by vanities numberless
Garbed with gaudy perversions and sickly gluttony was I.
Yet thou comest on the whites of blinding light
A rushing blaze of many forms.
Sri Krishna: Heavenward my beloved soul, come now.
Aspirant: Speech falls mute, shy of looking at glory too profound for words
My Beloved Lord…